Gnome Man’s Land

Gnome Man’s Land Part One

July 1978

The crooked old lady hobbles up the winding path that leads to a huge house. It’s not a mansion of any description but it’s considerably larger than your average dwelling.

Her face old and haggard, her nose hooked and her eyes deep set but knowing. She squints her good eye, the right one, as the morning sun rises. The other nothing but a white, slightly greying orb in her socket.

With one hand she pulls a shopping trolley. It contains amongst other things, items that she’s crafted with her wrinkled, aged hands. And in the other a cane, carved from hazel wood.

She swivels her head like an owl as she examines the immaculately kept garden, with its fountain and many ornate objects of animals and quaint little houses. She knows the exact item to try to peddle here.

A dog barks as she knocks the door with the deer antlers that adorn the head of her cane.

A greying gentleman answers the door while trying to keep the excited dog at bay.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Hello my dear. Would you be interested in buying my wares so I may eat today?” she asked.

“No. I’m sorry, I’m just not interested,” he replied.

“But sir, you haven’t even seen what I have,” she answered back pulling rabbits feet and heather out of her trolley.

“No! Sorry!” he snaps and tries to slam the door. The gypsy woman puts her foot in the doorway and stops it.

“How about this then? This will fit right in with your garden.” She offers him an elderly looking garden gnome.

“I’ve tried being polite, now piss off and take your stinking, filthy smell with you!” he snarled. “Now kindly remove your foot!”

She moves her foot and he slams the door.

“Bah! Well I’ll leave it anyway, and an extra something for being so rude!” said the old woman to herself as she put the gnome on to the doorstep. She held her hands over the gnome whispering in a foreign tongue. She started to shake, the gnome started quivering, only a little at first then more violently before stopping.

She walked back down the path annoyed at the non sale and continued muttering curses as she went.

August 1979

“Woof! Woof!”

“Mark! That damn dog of yours is barking again, come let him out.”

“Ok Dad,” Mark hollered back.

Mark took the stairs two at time and opened the front door. It was late in the evening, past dusk and growing darker by the minute.

“Out ya go Bobby and don’t go bothering Grandpa Gnome.” He shut the door and went back to watch the game on TV.

Bobby for some reason or another hadn’t taken to the concrete ornament at all. Every time he went near it, which wasn’t very often, he would bark and growl.

He scampered out into the front garden and sniffed around for a while, following trails of cats and other animals of a nocturnal nature.

Scattered around the garden were various ornaments and other gnomes that had been collected by Don and his wife, on their many excursions since Grandpa Gnome’s arrival.

One by one Bobby paid the garden accessories a visit and each one received a spray or two as he cocked his leg.

He paid special attention to Grandpa Gnome and made sure he’d got enough left in the tank to give him a good dousing. As he turned, his backside knocked Grandpa Gnome off the little brick wall and he smashed to smithereens as he landed on to the paved area below. This released the curse of the gypsy woman and gave life to the other gnomes and garden ornaments.

The curse immediately kicked in and made the gnomes want to take revenge, primarily for the treatment of the gypsy woman from the owner and on Bobby for smashing Grandpa Gnome and peeing on them a number of times.

Beady, evil little eyes watched Bobby as he trotted back in the direction of the house; feeling pleased with himself, a cocky little bounce with each stride.

A high pitched shriek of defiance stopped him in his tracks as a pitchfork penetrated his back end and sunk in so far it went into his hind legs. The bones crunched and splintered and blood ran down the dogs legs. Yelping, he dragged himself towards the safety of the house but a rake pierced into the back of his neck and pulled the skin back a few inches before becoming wedged in his shoulders.

The gnomes descended on the dog. Bobby’s growling and snarling didn’t put the gnomes off and they managed to put a fertiliser bag over his head. His whimpers muffled as circling him they stabbed him from head to toe with various implements they had taken from the garden shed. A pitiful cry for help escaped him each time the evil gnomes punctured his torso.

Bobby’s life slipped away but the gnomes continued their relentless torture.

After removing the bag they took it in turns extracting all the dogs’ teeth. Two more gnomes cut off his ears and nose, cackling hysterically as they did so. With hunting knives they skinned Bobby from where the rake had peeled his skin and fur back and then proceeded to cut off his genitals.

Revenge for Grandpa Gnome had only just begun. The home owner and his family would all feel the wrath as the gnomes now blamed them for having the dumb animal in the first place.

Between them they dragged the bleeding carcass nearer to the house and after taking up their hiding spots, one of the gnomes stepped forward and rapped loudly on the front door.

Gnome Man’s Land Part Two

August 1979

Rat-a-tat-tat went the door.

“Can you get that Don?” Mary shouted from upstairs.

“I’ve got it,” said the head of the household jumping up swiftly.

“Strange, there’s no one there,” he muttered as he stepped onto the porch.

He surveyed the garden only to see the mutilated bloody remains of their dog, Bobby.

“Holy shit! What the…?”

He was cut off mid sentence when a small handled garden fork was thrust through his neck, spraying blood eight feet like an out of control sprinkler.

He managed a small scream which alerted his two sons before staggering around and collapsing on to the perfectly kept lawn.

“Oh my god! Dad!” cried Steve the elder of the two boys. “What’s happened!? Who’s done this!?”

“Mark! Mark!” He bellowed through stinging eyes.

He raced to his father’s aid but he was already dead as the red liquid pumped from his jugular and turned the light green grass a deep crimson.

As his brother Mark came to answer his cries for help, they heard several strange mischievous cackles and looking out onto the lawn they were greeted by an army of gnomes.

“Duck,” yelled Steve as a spade flew through the air. Mark dropped to the floor and turned his head and watched as the spade whizzed past and cut the top off his mom’s head who had stepped out of the front door to see what all the commotion was about.

Her mouth gaped open but nothing came out, there was just a blank expression on her face then she fell in a crumpled heap on the floor, her legs folded underneath her.

The boys were paralysed with shock and fear, the gnomes moved with deadly purpose.

The boys screamed and the gnomes cackled some more as they peeled the skin from their dead mothers face, exposing the muscle and sinew and plucked her eyes out with sticks of bamboo. The eyeballs had popped when they punctured and dripped gooey mess like when you toast marshmallows on a camping trip as a kid. They danced around with them like some kind of trophy.

The sound of sawing gained the boys attention and looking back at their father they screamed at the sight of a hacksaw wielding gnome rapidly cutting off their dad’s fingers.

Mark was still on the floor and his horror turned to shock as a screwdriver was slammed through his Achilles heel on his right foot followed by another cracking through his left knee cap. He screamed in agony when a hunters knife stabbed him in the groin and louder still when a lump hammer bounced off his skull and splintered and shattered it. The gnomes shrieked with murderous glee as a fountain of blood cascaded into the air.

“I’m coming Mark! Hang on!” Steve desperately tried to help but was fended off by three gnomes armed with pitchforks.

“Help me,” pleaded Mark as he was bludgeoned in the chest and neck with wooden stakes.

His cries for help turning to a blood curdling scream as his eyes were plucked out with a pair of long noses pliers and popped under the pressure.

Steve tried in vain to reach his younger brother; a pitchfork stabbed him in the quad, another in the stomach and one in his bicep.

Steve soaked in his brothers blood retreated and panic stricken he stumbled for the garage where his father kept the ride on lawn mower.

He shot out of the shed like he was coming off the grid at the Grand Prix just as the gnomes had completely skinned his now dead sibling. He chased the evil imps around the garden; they were stumbling over each other to get out of the way. He got two in one pass and was chasing down another when something landed on his back.

The excruciating pain ripped through him as a pair of secateurs entered him between the shoulder blades.

He reached back as best as he could to grab the gnome off him, who twice more plunged the tool in scraping his bones as, it did so.

A struggle ensued and he grabbed the gnome and threw it in the fish pond with a splash, gurgling and blowing bubbles as it sank down. Several laps of the garden later and each one had been left chewed up, spat out, and were strewn all over the lawn.

He exited the mower and collapsed on the grass, barely able to breathe, barely able to comprehend what had just happened to him and his family.

“It’s all over,” he reassured himself. Tears streaming down his cheeks. The pain unbearable. He inhaled deeply and tried to regain some composure. He looked up at the clear night sky and imagined himself somewhere tranquil and safe.

Wham! A plant pot smashed over his head and grabbing a broken piece of it, the dripping wet gnome who had landed in the pond tried to slash at his throat.

Steve grasped a screwdriver and repeatedly jabbed it in the face, shattering it into tiny fragments.

“It’s all over,” he repeated as he sat up to look at his mutilated family.

An almighty roar brought him back to his senses, and he sharply turned to face the direction from which it came.

The two lion head busts on the pillars either side of the electronic gate at the front of the drive looked straight at him.

They roared again in unison as Cupid sat perched on the fountain in the centre of the garden cocked his bow and shot an arrow through the back of Steve’s head and out of his right eye.

The silence was broken by the deep chuckling of a Buddha in the rockery and the wail of distant sirens.


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